


A Morning in the Life of Many Ordinary People

by BubblegumCat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Mornings, Other, different characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubblegumCat/pseuds/BubblegumCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically just little snippets from the mornings of characters I have thought up. All of them vary in age and personality and gender and background. I hope you like/can relate to some of them ^_^ also I'd really be so so grateful for any feedback at all you can give</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Noelle

I awaken to brilliant sunlight streaming onto my face through the golden tinged leaves of the enormous oak tree that lives in my garden. I open my eyes and I am confused, why on earth am I outside? Then I remember. I saw a cat perched on a wall opposite my kitchen window last night and I had to sketch her, I just had to. She was a perfect snowy white with the bushiest tail you have ever seen and she was so beautiful I had to have her in my notebook forever. Never mind that it was 2am and I had just come downstairs for a glass of water. I couldn't help myself, you see once I see something I want to draw I have to draw it right then right in that moment otherwise I am terrified it shall be gone forever, and imagine how heart breaking that would be if you lost the opportunity to draw something so beautiful. I couldn't bear that. I sit up straight bolt upright and stretch my fingertips up to the never ending blue sky that I see every day but that still never ceases to amaze me. It reminds me of my favourite shade in my paint palette. I despise the names that they give some of the paints, they are ever so dreary and dull and ordinary. "Bright yellow", "bold orange", "grassy green", have you ever heard anything so utterly unfantastical? Shouldn't paints be called magical things, like "fairy dust pink" or "amulet gold"? I wish I was better with words, even those names don’t sound anywhere near good enough to describe colours. I don’t think any mere words could describe colours. 

I spring up and grab my notebook just before it falls out of my lap to the ground. Then I skip inside because I'm starving I feel as if I have not eaten for a week. Which is probably close enough to the truth, I seem to get so wrapped up in things that I lose all concept of time and the necessities my body needs to keep going. I boil the kettle ready for my tea and I rush upstairs to the bathroom jumping up the stairs two at a time, realising that I have college today and I need to make myself look like myself. Thank goodness this house is so small and I am so quick, I reach the bathroom and catch a glimpse of my face and oh my the results are conclusive, sleeping outdoors is not the best idea... I have soil smeared on my face and grass all caught in my hair and my neck hurts from leaning against that tree all night. I really must not make a habit of this. My blue hair is sticking up all over the place and I have no time to deal with it so I think I shall just leave it as it is for now, good thing its short so I can get away with messy hair. I start with my makeup, I cannot be bothered with foundation today so rub off the bits of dirt I missed and shove some eye shadow on, it is my favourite fawny brown and I love it so. I glance at the clock on the wall downstairs that I can only just see, my house is relatively open plan because I cannot bear enclosed spaces, and I see how late I am and I gasp and say fuck it to my face. I can't be late for school again I'm convinced they will kick me out at some point, no matter how much Carol loves my sketches. I sprint downstairs and check to see I am wearing the right amount of clothes in the mirror I put by the door for just this purpose, pleased to see there are no missing essentials. I have done that before you know, left my house without a pair of trousers on. Thank goodness I realised just as I was walking out of the gate. I can be remarkably scatter brained… I walk down my little path and out of the gate, breathing in the air, noticing the clouds that have drifted in and smiling because look that one looks just like the gorgeous white cat I drew last night. Then I remember how late I am and I'm off rushing down the road.


	2. George

I wake up to darkness. Same as always. I always seem to get up much too early these days. When you're old the days seem to grow longer and longer. As a young'un life would pass me by in a flash and you'd blink and the day would be done and it would be time for bedtime whether you liked it or not. But now, no. Days drag on and on. God, when did I get so morbid. I swing my legs out of bed, slowly, sluggishly, sleepily sliding my feet around trying to find those damn slippers that always seem to end up under the bed just out of my reach, but today I can't find them. Damn that dog Lucy, always hiding things away when I'm not looking. I glance over and spy my slippers underneath the armchair on the other side of the room. Muttering unspeakable things under my breath as I heave myself out of bed, I trudge over to them. I know I'll forget they're there if I don't fish them out now. Besides, my feet have a terrible tendency to become blocks of ice these days, especially since it's November. My circulation isn't what it once was. 

I gingerly pass into the hallway, hands centimetres away from the wall in case my legs give way underneath me. That's the trouble with getting old, you never know when your body will just decide to give way and give up on you. But still, you have to keep on. I make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, slowly but surely. That's always the way nowadays but I can't complain because at least it gets me there. I sit down to rest, I need to rest quite often, my legs aren't as strong as they used to be, and the rest of me isn't much better. I think about breakfast, what to have, what do I want, what would be good for me. What I want are crumpets smothered in butter and strawberry jam oh yes that would be simply marvellous, but the doctor said I really should cut back on my cholesterol, so I suppose I'll have some cereal. I'm not usually one for trying new things, but the other day my daughter in law picked up this new-fangled cereal for me, cheerios I believe they're called, and I think that they're rather good, so I pour myself a bowl of them. Here's a little tip from me, the honey nut ones are the best. None of that whole grain mess, no, that's not the life for me. I may be getting on but I still like my sweets, and there's sure as heck nothing wrong with that. I sit at the table in the kitchen opposite my big window, it's quiet except for the birds tweeting and singing away out there. I see their shadows now and again flitting here and there. Always did love birds, me. For my last birthday Harry got me a birdfeeder. He knows me well that boy, I'd never ask him for a thing but he's got me sussed. I should show him I care more, for a father I was never very good with all that sappy stuff. I think my old age has made me realise a lot. Fifty years ago I'd never be caught dead listening to birds sing with a smile on my face, watching the sunrise. But look at me now. Perhaps ageing has changed me for the better. If so I think I can live with a little stiffness in the mornings. Watching the sunrise is the best part of my day.


	3. Isla

I open my eyes and all I see is light, and for the first time in so long I feel okay. I didn't have the dreams. I don't feel exhausted and drained and awful. I just feel, okay. It feels strange if I'm honest, I'm not quite sure how to take it. I still can't see anything, the light really is blinding. I squint over and see that my curtains are wide open and I seem to have slept so long that the sun is fully up in the sky. This is another first. I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep.   
I slowly sit up, not wanting to make any sudden movements in case I suddenly jolt myself back into the bad place I have been working for so long to get away from. And I have been working. I wake up and I make myself look presentable. I do my yoga exercises and I eat breakfast, every day, no matter how hard it is. I go to work at the hospital all day looking after everyone, making sure they are okay, trying not to think if I am honest because thinking is what brings me to the worst corners of my mind. I like listening to their stories, everyone in the hospital always has something to say, whether it takes them a few days or a few months or even in some cases a few years. Then I come home when I have to, and I make myself dinner, and then I make myself eat it because I know eating is important and it keeps me going. Then sometimes I write, sometimes I watch a movie, sometimes I read, I paint or play my violin or I do the gardening or I sew another patch onto the quilt I am in the process of making. This one is nearly done and I'm pretty proud of it. I think I might give it to the little girl at the hospital with the eyes that always look so painfully empty, except when her family visit every month. I wish they would visit more, for her sake. But as I was saying, I just need to always keep myself busy. It helps to keep the tidal waves away.   
Of course most of the time I can still feel the waves, the dark storm inside my mind. It's always there. I can keep as busy as I want, I can fight as hard as I like, it doesn't ever really go away. But right now, it seems to be gone. I can't explain it. It's something so new to me, this inexplicably tranquil quiet inside of me. I'm at a loss, I don't quite know what to do. I guess it's a good thing it is the weekend and I don't have to go anywhere in a hurry. I can just sit here, and savour this. My cat Pepe comes to say good morning to me, rubbing his face against my arm. I smile down at him and scratch his little head. His big blue eyes stare up at me, as if he is surprised. I guess he must not be used to me really smiling. I laugh a little laugh out loud at the idea, and then I stop. Did I really just laugh? Out loud? A real laugh? I've spent so many years faking laughter, I'd forgotten the sound and feel of it. How strange.   
I pick Pepe up and take him with me into the bathroom, setting him down gently on the counter. He likes to sit on high up places, he's still quite young and he hasn't quite got the hang of all the jumping other cats are so well accustomed to. I suppose both him and I are a little behind in being normal creatures in our own rights. Maybe that's why I love him so. I'd like to think he loves me too, but really with cats it's hard to tell.   
I look at my reflection in the mirror, and I don't know if it's just me or the way I am feeling today, but I think I look a little less pale, a little less worn. The dark circles under my eyes have lightened a little. Obviously miracles haven't happened or anything, but I look more, human. I pick up my brush and tug it through my hair lightly. It's not nearly as knotty as it usually is. Perhaps the lack of nightmares meant I did a lot less tossing and turning last night. I put the brush down, opting to just pull my fingers through my hair. It's just as long as it has always been, all the way down to my waist, past my elbows, almost reaching my bum. There's so much of it. I look across and see a pair of scissors sitting on the dressing table in my room. I have an idea. What if I cut it all off? Let go of it all? I've always had long hair, ever since I was young, when everything happened. My mother preferred it, and so I just kept it, never really thought about it. If I cut it all away, I'd be free, right? I pick up a lock of hair, it's heavy, dense and thick. I suddenly want nothing more than to feel the sharpness of the scissors cutting through it all. I take three long strides into my room, to the dresser, and pick up the scissors. Then three long strides back, to stand in front of the mirror again. I look at myself, one last time. I think of whispering goodbye, but that just makes me want to laugh again. My mother always did call me overdramatic. I open the scissors, bring them up to my hair, pull a long strand away from the rest, and snip. It's gone. And I feel even lighter.  
I carry on, snipping and cutting and lopping each piece off, until it's at my chin. I have quite a pointy heart shaped face, and my hair accentuates that now. I smile at myself, run my fingers through it, and look down at my dark hair all over the floor. I feel laughter bubbling up inside me yet again, for the third time today, and it's not even 10 o'clock in the morning. I look at Pepe. He's licking his paws, uninterested in this big thing I have just done. What a typical cat. This time I do laugh out loud, and I feel lighter than I think I have ever felt in my whole life. I pick up him and, careful not to step on my hair on the floor, I go to get a broom to sweep up the mess I have made. Pepe meows, and licks my face. Maybe he wasn't that uninterested after all.


End file.
